A true taste of the World Cup

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 25/11/2022 (1227 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

This World Cup is about relationships.

We all have new BFFs. Canada is on the ticket and, collectively, we are going out of our way to help each other. This did not happen in the past eight World Cups I attended. Usually, you could spot the odd person in the crowd wearing a Blue Jays cap or Roots sweater, strolling along haplessly waving a German flag. Maybe you would give a nod.

There are 25,000 Canadian fans in Qatar. Here, we are sharing heart emojis online, meeting up en masse decked out in red and white, and plotting chants and swarms to matches.

We journey to the stadium singing, “Oooo ahhh Canada, oooo ahhhh Canada!”

There is a pure excitement about this team. They won CONCACAF. They beat the Americans and Mexico.

Every four years, there is a localized essence or theme to the World Cup experience.

Brazil had beaches and caipirinhas flowing in abundance along the boardwalk. I swore I would never buy a drink from a stranger carrying a tray of homemade brew, but a few reais later my head was spinning with the rest of the party.

Hordes of people juggled soccer balls and played mini-games on the sand. There was a free, festive energy, with parades of fans belting their hearts out in song.

Russia had the vodka culture and was exquisite and sophisticated, with extraordinary cities like Moscow and Saint Petersburg as backdrops. The subway stops resembled museums and the historical settings offered the curious fan a glimpse into past czars, art and the Soviet Union.

South Africa was a time machine into apartheid. It had stunning scenery and safaris with lions, giraffes and elephants. Vuvuzelas trumpeted endlessly.

Doha is very different. It is a spread-out mash of new, glitzy high rises in the middle of the desert, in the middle of nowhere. It is striving to be the next Dubai. It feels difficult to get around unless you have a car. I have to remind myself not to complain when I’m going to two games a day within 55 kilometres of one another when the next World Cup will be hosted by Canada, the United States and Mexico.

Qatar has been hammered by the press for its human-rights violations and suppression of the LGBTQ2+ community.

Beer has been banned from the stadiums and the notion of joy has been fabricated, like the fake Qatari fans brought in from Lebanon, even as Saudi Arabia’s stunning victory over Argentina genuinely sent Arabic nations into euphoric rapture. The stadiums and buildings beautifully adorned with FIFA fanfare still just make for a metal and concrete jungle in a barren desert.

What keeps me sane here is that we are in this World Cup together as a nation. I am living with a Canadian family I met through a friend and they have completely opened their home to me.

They too are in our parade waving the Maple Leaf. Our cheeks were streaked with red as we chanted with hundreds from the bar as we headed to the Belgium match.

“Canada tatata! Canada tatata! Canada tatata!”

The Vancouver couple teach at an international school. They love soccer. Their nine-year-old son plays the FIFA video game tirelessly. They tell me their house is my house. In fact, Doha seems so devoid of spirit and soulless in vibe that I can’t imagine how I would be faring if they weren’t taking care of me. They have taken me sightseeing, dropped me off at places and guided me. I would have walked for miles in the hot sun, lost in this country.

It’s not easy here. Some of the buildings are breathtaking, but unless you are staying at a swanky $1,500-a-night hotel in the Pearl or next to the Corniche, this World Cup is not for the rest of the world. It is the rich man’s celebration. The Fan Fest is a blast for many, but it’s too crowded. The narrow streets in the Souq, full of souvenirs, offer an enchanted taste of the Arabic world, but the area is small and limited.

I know fans who are living in caravan boxcars in the desert — some without air conditioning or hot water. One look at them, and you’d be glad you are watching the games on television. They are out on bleak patches of rocky dirt for $200 a night.

In contrast, my family and I searched for meaning and found ourselves at the Canadian team’s hotel. They were gracious to us. Some players, including Alphonso Davies, posed for photos. There was no pretense, just pure, pinching-themselves joy to be there. They welcomed us.

We cheered Phonzy on. The team had brilliant flashes. We saw that they can play against the best teams in the world.

We became a community this World Cup.

We were invited by Canada Soccer president Nick Fontis to the Canada House party to share the spirit with other fans. Again, relationships opened the door. The fifth floor of the Hilton boasts a massive outdoor deck with a fancy pool, giant TV screen and bars to entertain Canadian fans. The pool has rafts resembling beavers, loons, raccoons, moose and maple leaves. It is a Canada Soccer landing spot like I have never experienced before.

We chat, we high-five and hug like old friends. This kindred spirit is what we longed for at past World Cups, when masses of Brazilian or Argentinian fans swept past, unified in song and spirit.

This is what the World Cup is supposed to be about. We missed the party for decades, but we are finally getting our taste of it.

Now we need to win.

Carrie Serwetnyk is a former Canadian national team member and first woman inducted in the Canadian Soccer Hall of Fame. She is in Qatar sharing the World Cup experience.